


What We Do in the Living Room

by XiuChen4Ever



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Undead, Humor, M/M, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-08-23 11:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20242333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XiuChen4Ever/pseuds/XiuChen4Ever
Summary: Baekhyun loves his roommates.  He really does.  He just also wants to kill them on a regular basis.  Which is a bit difficult considering they’re already dead.





	What We Do in the Living Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unnieunnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnieunnie/gifts).

> Written for EXOMONSTERFEST 2019, prompt T144.
> 
> This was entirely fun to write! I really hope it's as amusing to readers as it is to myself, and that someone out there gets all of the cheesy references I tried to pack this fic chock-full of.
> 
> Special thanks to my wonderful/terrible pair of betas/enablers who kept providing more wonderful/terrible ideas. May your fangs always glisten, may your favorite kigurumi always be clean, and may no one ever step on the tail-end of your leg wrappings, dear friends!

## 

⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫

It’s a typical Saturday night for the three roommates that share apartment 1031, a cozy little three-bedroom unit overlooking the Han river. This sort of place would normally rent for a fortune, but this one was basically a steal. 

That’s because it’s quite haunted.

And not just haunted. It’s also cursed and infested. But the three roommates are quite content with that, and the low rent is a nice bonus.

The oldest roommate, Minseok, is curled up on the sofa watching a variety show. He’s wearing a mostly-white kigurumi spangled with aqua, purple, and pink speckles vaguely resembling leopard print. The hood of the animal onesie is pulled up, displaying feline ears, embroidered blue eyes, and a spiraling fabric horn.

Minseok is flopped over onto his side, playing with the long slim tail affixed to the back of the kigurumi. He’s resting his head against his favorite pillow, a comfy thigh belonging to the youngest roommate, Jongdae.

Jongdae is scrolling through his laptop, checking the status of all his dark bidding on the internet. Many auctions close Saturday night, and he wants to make sure no one snipes the high bid at the last second. He does a brisk trade in monster movie memorabilia, a little hobby that’s taken over his room and is starting to spill out into the rest of the flat.

The middle roommate, Baekhyun, strides into the living room and does a catwalk spin. He’s wrapped in strips of red silk emphasizing his slim figure.

“What do you think?” he asks the two on the sofa.

“Bleh,” Jongdae says.

“Boo,” Minseok agrees.

Baekhyun huffs, smoky eyes narrowing between two crimson strips. “The pair of you are so damn predictable. I don’t know why I bother.”

He stomps back down the hall to his room, arms held straight out in front of him. “Seriously. Just  _ once _ I’d like to get a constructive answer from either of you losers…”

Baekhyun’s voice trails off, leaving the cheesy variety-show soundtrack of exaggerated “Woooooo!” as intermittent background noise.

“I hope Sehun tells him it looks good,” Minseok murmurs.

“Yeah, the blood red really is his color,” Jongdae agrees. 

Minseok shifts, snuggling more comfortably against Jongdae’s leg. Jongdae’s wearing another of his tuxedos, and the frilly cuff of his silk shirt brushes Minseok’s face as Jongdae absently pets one kigurumi cat-ear.

“I thought you were going to stop wearing cat onesies all the time, Hyung?” Jongdae asks, looking away from his laptop screen to smile down at the faux feline in his lap.

“This is a cat- _ unicorn,” _ Minseok asserts, flicking the iridescent horn between his fabric ears. “Totally different.”

“I see,” Jongdae says, eyes back on the auction site. “Yixing-ge give you that?”

“Yes.” Minseok’s glee is evident in his voice. “He’s such a good dongsaeng.” 

When Jongdae pouts, Minseok follows it up with “Of course, you’re the  _ best _ dongsaeng.”

“Damn right,” Jongdae agrees just as their roommate saunters in again.

“Don’t wait up,” Baekhyun smirks, looking drop-dead gorgeous in the strips of red silk.

“Have fun, Baekkie!” Minseok waves. “Be safe!”

“Yeah, stay away from museums and public toilets,” Jongdae adds.

“Har har, Mom and Dad,” Baekhyun mocks as he shuts the door behind himself.

The two remaining roommates make eye contact.

“I’m the Dad,” they both say at the same time.

## 

⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫

Sundays in apartment 1031 are for cleaning. This is because Minseok considers it a holy activity and takes it very seriously. An apparently-unoccupied chipmunk kigurumi shaking its stripey tail to power metal and twirling in the air as objects straighten themselves up may not seem like a spiritual observance, but it very much is.

But just because Minseok enjoys the cleaning process doesn’t mean the other roommates can wriggle out of doing their fair share. When the door to the dryer pops open to reveal nothing inside, there’s an offended gasp before the chipmunk onesie crumples abandoned to the floor.

Baekhyun screams gratifyingly when a disembodied glare appears just in front of his face. 

“Hyung!” he says, slamming shut the laptop on his knees and resting his hand on one of the animal-headed urns lined up next to his bed. “You just about gave me a heart attack!”

“Serves you right,” growls the glare, irises glowing an otherworldly blue. “This is your week to do the laundry and it hasn’t been done.”

“Go haunt Jongdae about it,” Baekhyun protests. “I let him store some of his dumb figurines in my closet and he said he’d do the laundry for me until he sold the damn things off.”

The glare narrows into nothingness as an inhuman shriek of displeasure echoes around the room.

Minseok finds Jongdae standing in the doorway to his own room, twisting a tension-sprung chin-up bar into place.

“Oh, are you working out again?” Minseok asks hopefully, floating eyes wide and bright.

“A little. But mostly I’m observing my ancestral sleeping customs. The coffin is making me a little claustrophobic these days."

Jongdae tugs sharply on the bar, testing the hold, then curls his body upwards to hook his knees over it. His cape pools beneath him on the floor as he folds his arms across his chest and closes his eyes.

The hovering eyes narrow. “You look absolutely ridiculous. And you’re not fooling any body—we all know that your room is so full of B-movie junk that you can’t even  _ see _ your coffin, much less sleep in it.”

The invisible body the eyes belong to tries to squeeze past the dangling hoarder to evaluate the current state of his room. With a yelp, Jongdae twists, trying to grab Minseok and halt his progress.

It’s a futile effort to save his dignity. Not only is Minseok successful in entering the room, but Jongdae’s gyrations loosen the bar he’s hanging from, sending him crashing to the floor in a whining heap of rumpled formalwear.

The eyes hover in the middle of the bedroom-turned-movie-monster-warehouse. There are boxes upon boxes stacked to the ceiling, rolled-up posters piled like logs around the edges of the room, and Jongdae’s coffin is closed—probably also filled with random paraphernalia—and covered entirely with a monstrous army of figurines. 

“This is some Junmyeon-level shit right here,” Minseok condemns. The judgemental eyes float out of the room, not even glancing at the crumpled creature on the floor. “You better have sale auctions running for most of this. And do the fucking laundry.”

A whimper is the only response.

## 

⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫

The middle of the week is a relaxing time for the trio—or at least it  _ would _ be, if Baekhyun would close the thrice-damned drapes. Jongdae had ensured the apartment’s windows were covered with military-grade blackout curtains for safety purposes, and what do his roommates go and do? They’ve tied back the protective curtains, opened the windows behind them, and they’re fucking  _ sunbathing. _

“Hyungs,” he whines from around the corner, including Baekhyun in the honorific in an attempt to garner caretaking feelings from both his roommates. “The air tastes like  _ burning.” _

“Oh, quit being such a wimp,” Baekhyun chides. “You say this every month. Do you want me to get all moldy just because you’re a fraidy-bat?”

He’s stripped bare and spread-eagled in the patch of sunlight, looking more than a little like strips of yukpo arranged in a man-shape. Above the dried-meat-man, bandages and gauze are fluttering on clotheslines strung in front of the hazardous holes in the apartment’s defenses. Baekhyun rolls over and spreads his asscheeks, ensuring there’s nowhere that the sun doesn’t shine.

Jongdae averts his eyes from the disconcerting sight, focusing instead on the orange-striped figure batting at the dangling bandages. Minseok is curled up in the patch of sunlight between Baekhyun’s wide-spread legs, the tail of today’s kitty kigurumi twitching supernaturally. He extends a lazy arm whenever the UV-sanitizing strips flutter close enough.

“Seokkie-hyung, come hide with me,” Jongdae whines, putting a little aegyo into it. “You don’t have anything that needs to absorb sunlight, anyway.”

Minseok gasps, empty-seeming kitty hood turning toward the hallway Jongdae’s peeking at him from.

“What is this, body-shaming? Lack-of-body-shaming? We don’t mock  _ you _ for being pale or actually having to feed. I  _ like _ sunbathing—it’s nice to be warm for once. There’s no need to be  _ rude.” _

Turning away, Minseok settles on his back, all four limbs splayed in the air to better expose his zipped-up belly. He succeeds in trapping the end of a strip of bandage between his kigurumi paws, giggling triumphantly before letting the fabric sway freely in the breeze once again.

Frowning, Jongdae skulks off to his pitch-black room, wedging himself between his coffin and a teetering pile of commemorative cups. He grabs his laptop with a sigh. Maybe he should lower the reserve on a few of his auction listings. It’s not like he actually needs the cash, and it turns out that even when the chin-up bar holds, sleeping upside down really sucks (and not in the fun way).

His eyes pop open at the most recent activity on his account. Rising straight up onto his heels, Jongdae leaps over boxes to wrench his door open again, hissing at the glow of sunlight threatening to creep down the hallway.

“Baekhyun!” he bellows. “Did you use my account to bid on a metric fuckton of cute-puppy washi tape?”

“Nooooo…” comes the less-than-convincing denial from the living room. “Must be some sort of computer glitch or something.”

“Huh,” Jongdae says, faking confusion. “Well, I guess I’ll just cancel it, then.”

“You can’t,” Baekhyun calls. “All sales from that seller are final.”

“And how do you know that?” 

“Uh. I mean. I just assumed. You know. Isn’t that how auction sites work?”

Jongdae snorts. “Is that true for this rainbow variety pack of naughty-bunny ear headbands, puff-tailed leotards, and fishnet stockings, too?”

There’s silence from around the corner. 

“I didn’t bid on that,” Baekhyun says, sounding genuinely confused.

Another beat of silence.

“Hyung?” Jongdae calls.

“Look, you were the one who suggested I branch out from cat onesies,” Minseok huffs. Jongdae doesn’t have to look around the corner to know his arms are crossed defensively over his chest, kigurumi tail thrashing behind him.

Jongdae swallows. He’d merely meant to inspire some variety before he found his hyung with one kigurumi-covered leg sticking straight up in the air, licking his own crotch in the middle of the living room floor. Not that he objects to crotch-licking. He just prefers to have some body else lick his for him. Preferably some body who’s not dressed in elementary-school pajamas. 

Maybe some body dressed as an adult entertainer instead?

“Yeah, okay,” Jongdae says, voice a little strained. “I’ll just be in my room if you need me.”

He ignores the pair of snickers that chase him back down the hallway.

## 

⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫

Friday evening finds Baekhyun smoothing his favorite preparation of Morrocan argan oil over his gauze-wrapped limbs. He hates mold but he also hates when his skin gets dry and cracks because it takes literally forever for it to heal. And with the activities Baekhyun plans to get up to tomorrow night at the annual Danse Macabre, being supple is an absolute must.

Besides, it’s nice to pamper oneself a little bit every day. A little self-care, some mum-me-time, complete with sandalwood-scented wax tarts melting in the warmer—open flame around oily wrappings is a no-go—and his favorite girl-group pop playlist bouncing out of his bluetooth speaker.

He has the music turned up loud but he can still hear the occasional otherworldly moan or shriek from Minseok’s room. This is eventually accompanied by rhythmic knocking on the wall that is unfortunately  _ not _ in time with the music. The toothpaste tube levitates from the bathroom sink, a bottle of conditioner rises from the shower rack, and the box of tissues floats up off the back of the toilet.

Rolling his eyes at the ever-increasing disturbances, Baekhyun starts singing along with the music, hoping his own high notes ringing in his skull will drown out his hyung’s antics. He keeps singing even as the temperature suddenly drops, the lights flicker, and the bluetooth speaker momentarily produces nothing but static.

The toothpaste tube is suddenly crumpled, spurting a line of minty freshness into the sink.

At the same time, the conditioner bottle bursts open, spattering whitish goop against the wall tiles surrounding the bathtub.

And the tissue box explodes, hurling the lotioned-for-nasal-comfort sheets all over the bathroom.

Baekhyun sighs. For a guy that claims to hate messes, Minseok certainly seems to create more than his share.

A vigorous “One! Ah, ah,  _ aaahhhhh…” _ penetrates what was meant to be Baekhyun’s musical oasis. 

Palm full of oil, Baekhyun waits for the temperature to rise, the lights to stop flickering, and his bluetooth speaker to chirp that it’s connected once again to his smartphone. Then he starts applying the oil with more efficiency and less self-indulgence.

He really wants to be finished primping and somewhere far away well before Jongdae gets to “Two! Ah, ah,  _ ah.” _

## 

⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫

“Hyung, are you seriously wearing  _ that _ to the swankiest party of the year?”

Minseok looks down at himself. His classy wine-red waistcoat is impeccably fitted. His diamond-pointed bow tie is tied in a classic cross bow knot, and the satin ribbon around his jauntily-perched top hat is color-coordinated to his waistcoat.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

Baekhyun sighs. “A black cat onesie is  _ not _ formalwear, Hyung.”

Minseok shrugs. “The invitation said we should wear ‘top hats and tails.’ I have both of those things.” He twirls the tail sewn to the back of the onesie. “And this isn’t a black cat kigurumi, it’s a  _ tuxedo _ cat. See my white tummy?” Minseok rubs the tummy in question peeking from beneath the waistcoat. “And I have cuffs! With cufflinks!” He holds up an arm so Baekhyun can see the ruby glinting in the stiffly-pointed white cuff at the end of the kigurumi sleeve. “They’re classy.”

The amount of air Baekhyun is rapidly moving in and out of his dessicated lungs is enough to make his wrappings squeak in protest. Minseok narrows his eyes at the vanilla-colored strips of fabric, looking formal indeed with a gentle sheen beneath Baekhyun’s black brocade tailcoat. 

“Are you wearing my brand-new satin sheets?” Minseok asks. 

“Oh, hey, look at the time,” Baekhyun says, looking at the non-existent watch on his satin-wrapped wrist. “Jongdae!” he bellows. “Quit coating yourself in body glitter and let’s go!”

Pouting, Jongdae emerges from his room. He looks great in his high-collared black tailcoat, lined in satin the same shade as Minseok’s waistcoat. His makeup is flawless—no sign of any sparkle, just some blood-red lipstain and a bit of eyeliner smoked at the corners. He’s tugging at the bow tie in a tangle around his neck. 

“Hyuuung,” he whines. “I’m supposed to be powerful, beautiful, and without regret, not defeated by a piece of fabric.”

Minseok immediately moves to help his annoyed dongsaeng and quickly has the white silk tied in a tidy bow around Jongdae’s elegant entrancing neck. He presses a triumphant kiss on that irresistible column just above his handiwork.

“You look gorgeous, my handsome chupafantasma—” 

“O _ kay _ great let’s go,” Baekhyun huffs impatiently, grabbing his roommates by their wrists. “Tao will kill us if we make His Fanciness wait.”

“Those are definitely my sheets,” Minseok grumbles at the bony fingers wrapped around his wrist. “I can’t believe you cut them up.”

“You would have just gotten ectoplasm and bloody vampire jizz all over them anyway,” Baekhyun mutters, pulling them into the elevator.

“You could join us instead of being Bitter, Party of One,” Jongdae suggests, smiling wide to show off his gleaming fangs.

“Uh, no. I have no desire to be full of tooth holes for all eternity, nor do I want to fuck some body I can see through.”

The temperature in the elevator drops as Minseok gathers enough energy to manifest an entirely offended face. “Your loss,” he says, sticking his tongue out petulantly before fading into transparency again.

“It’s actually really hot,” Jongdae smirks. “I can watch myself—”

“Oh  _ look, _ isn’t that Sehun?” 

Baekhyun bolts from the elevator, leaving the snickering duo to trail smugly behind him.

## 

⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫

The Danse Macabre is indeed the biggest social event of the year for the differently-alive, and Jongdae would be lying if he said he didn’t love it. His kind adore ostentatious formalwear and Jongdae is no exception. The only downside is that there are no humans around to feed on—his fellow undead are much less impressed by his mesmerism, nor do they have any hot, pumping blood for him to suck.

At least he’s not particularly hungry. Minseok had gone with him yesterday when he’d stepped out to get a bite to drink—they’d gotten all the way to “Five! Ah, ah, aaaahhhh” and Jongdae had needed to replenish the spent vitality. It’s like sucking candy from a baby when his Hyung helps him out. Drunk college girls can’t resist trying to help the pitiful “kitten” they can hear mewing plaintively at the back of a dark alley, so all Jongdae has to do is sit back and let his prey come to him. 

So tonight he’s feeling at his most frisky, full of vim and vigor. He winks at a couple of the zombie servants despite knowing they’re generally not equipped to reciprocate. That’s the problem with zombies—all the interesting bits fall off first. 

One groans in inquiry at him, holding out the tray full of wineglasses toward Jongdae.

“No thanks,” he smiles politely. “I never drink… wine.”

The zombie groans again and wanders off to harass another guest. Jongdae checks out the servant’s ass as it shuffles away, ultimately curling his lip in disappointment. Shrugging, Jongdae goes in search of conversation in lieu of the nonexistent fleshly diversions. Nothing would compare to Minseok anyway.

He scans the crowd for people he knows. Zitao, the glowing host, and his taciturn companion Yifan are standing near the grand staircase, schmoozing with the incoming guests. Well, Tao is schmoozing (and oozing). Yifan’s just grunting and mechanically shaking hands when instructed.

Yixing is over by the punch bowl, probably testing out his horny pickup lines on his best friend—Jongdae can practically see Han’s eye roll even at this distance despite the guy’s translucency. Jongdae does  _ not _ want to make himself Yixing’s next guinea pig—his lines are bad enough to kill off the dead entirely along with their libidos. 

At least the ‘live’ band is good. Jongdae stops a moment to listen to them. The Children of the Night—what music they make. They always get hired at these types of shindigs because they fill the dance floor like flies on a two-day-old corpse. An inspection of the dancers reveals a very familiar couple.

Sehun is gracefully leading Chanyeol around the dance floor, patiently coaching the clumsier guy. Sehun’s jaw practically unhinges with his laughter every time Chanyeol, evidently feeling like he’s getting the hang of things, starts wagging his tail and whacking other couples on the dance floor before apologizing profusely. Yet another scenario Jongdae would rather avoid, despite his affection for the pair. 

He could go chat with Junmyeon and Kyungsoo, who are lurking in one of the corners as usual. But Kyungsoo’s creepy-ass glare is disturbing even to Jongdae, and Myeon would probably drip all over Jongdae’s nice outfit.

Which leaves Jongin, who’s standing near the cloakroom with what looks like a bunch of leaflets. He looks really crushed when he tries to hand one to some body only to be waved away without even a glance.

Poor guy. Jongdae drifts over, determined to cheer his dongsaeng up.

“Hey kiddo. Why the long face?”

Jongin pouts, which is adorable. “No one cares about wight erasure.”

“What?”

“No,  _ wight.  _ They all just think we’re just a subset of zombies but we’re  _ not. _ We have all our parts. We’re smart! And we’re  _ holy.” _

“Ah,” Jongdae says, accepting the amateurly-designed (but evidently professionally printed) leaflet Jongin hands him. He frowns down at the huge gothic lettering on the shiny paper.

“‘Wight Power?’” He gives Jongin a concerned look. “Are you sure you want to use that particular phrase?”

“Of course! I’m not letting the voices of my fellow wights be silenced by all these new unhallowed undead. I mean, we were here first, and no body respects us anymore.” Jongin is so worked up bits of effluvium start drifting away, shaken loose by his agitation.

“O...kay?” Jongdae says, wondering how rude it would be to turn into mist right now and drift somewhere less awkward.

“It’s not okay!” Jongin protests. “Hyung, why doesn’t any body care about the wight plight?”

“Well,” Jongdae says, drawing the word out to give himself time to think. “Maybe it’s because these days we’re more interested in bonding together as an inclusive group. I mean, no body knows what Kyungsoo even  _ is, _ but also no body cares. He’s one of us. Isn’t that enough?”

Jongin frowns, gaze travelling to the terrifying little guy in the corner with Junmyeon. “I… guess.”

Then Jongin gasps in horror. “Do people think I’m being exclusionary? I’m totally not! I just want to feel like I still have somewhere to belong. It’s hard when no one really knows what you are. I hope Kyungsoo doesn’t think I’m trying to discriminate. Is that why he’s always glaring at me?” The wight looks close to tears, effluvium gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“No, no,” Jongdae reassures the boy. “He glares at everyone. That’s just what he does.”

“Oh.” Jongin’s face goes contemplative. “Maybe I’ll go talk to him. We can be poorly understood together.”

“Yeah, you just… do that. Maybe ditch the leaflets on the way?”

“Oh yeah—I don’t need these anymore, do I?” He shoves the stack of leaflets into Jongdae’s hands, elbowing him in the face in the process. “Thanks, Hyung!”

Jongdae watches the excitable wight all but frolic over to chat with Kyungsoo. He folds in half with laughter when Jongin slips on Junmyeon’s puddle and goes down, sliding between both startled men on a phosphorescent smear of diluted effluvium.

Curling around them makes Jongdae acutely aware of the stack of questionable leaflets he’s holding. When he looks down at the problematic paper, he realizes that the wight’s flying elbow had evidently given him a momentary nosebleed. It had already healed, of course, but it had apparently lasted long enough to spatter dark drops of blood down his face and over the front of his clothes. 

Hissing in annoyance, Jongdae surreptitiously drops the leaflets into the nearest bin. Then he drapes his cape over an arm that he holds curved in front of his body to hide the embarrassing ruin of his fancy clothes. Hissing again, he tucks the lower half of his face into the crook of his elbow, darting furtive eyes around to see if any body had seen his bloody predicament. 

Even though it seems no one noticed, the hissing and scowling continue as Jongdae skulks away, annoyed that he can’t even clean himself up effectively in the nearest restroom thanks to uncooperative mirrors. Instead, this dangerous midnight hunter has to scurry off and find his favorite hyung to save him yet again.

## 

⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫

“Hey cutie. I really like your dress. All that lace—”

Baekhyun’s salacious leer is cut off by an indignant shriek.

“It’s not a dress! They’re robes. They’re  _ tattered,  _ not lacy. And I’m not cute. I’m a very manly wraith. Like the ones in Lord of the Rings.”

“Oh.” Baekhyun blinks at the beautiful translucent face in front of him for only a second before his suggestive gaze returns. “I like a manly man.”

“Well, I like women.” The shimmering being looks Baekhyun up and down. “Are you a woman? It’s always hard to tell with your kind.”

“For some body as pr-er,  _ handsome _ as you? I’ll be anything you like.” Baekhyun bounces his eyebrows up and down.

The wraith gives him a look of disgust. “Yixing,” he calls over his shoulder. “This one’s evidently mistaken me for you.”

The wraith starts to float off but isn’t fast enough to get out of the way before a scarlet-skinned creature bursts through his trailing evanescence.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” the guy smirks.

Baekhyun gives him a considering look. The guy’s cute enough—he’s got bedroom eyes and dimples along with full, edible lips. He’s also got huge curving black horns, a snaky black tail, and leathery black wings, but who is Baekhyun to judge?

“Hey there, yourself,” Baekhyun responds, adding a flirty wink.

“What’s your sign, baby?” the horned man asks, biting that seductive lower lip.

Asking for death day horoscopes was a bit of a lame pickup line but some bodies truly believed in it. It’s a rigor-breaker at least so Baekhyun plays along.

“Horus,” he states even though no body around here ever knows what to make of the Egyptian horoscope. It helps Baekhyun maintain an air of mystery and exoticism. “What’s yours?” He bats his lashes up at the guy.

“I was summoned to this plane in the year of the sheep,” the guy answers. “But that doesn’t make me a lamb, pretty baby.”

“So you’re an incubus, then?” Baekhyun asks. It’s always best to be sure when one’s going off with any of the summoned—some of them devour mortal flesh and aren’t all that picky about the exact definition of “mortal.”

“Hey, don’t put me in a box, baby. I’m a  _ con _ cubus. I don’t care who’s on top as long as every body’s having a good time.” He sets a hand on Baekhyun’s hip.

Baekhyun widens his eyes. Most assume his sort are perpetual bottoms as their equipment must be dry and shriveled but Baekhyun is here to prove that a walking stiff can be quite  _ stiff  _ indeed. And unlike the sticky fluids emitted by his roommates, Baek’s puff of dust makes for easy clean-up.

So he rests his own hand on the concubus’s ass. “Babe, you’re gonna feel it for centuries.”

The demon’s eyes go wide, then he deploys a wicked dimpled grin. “So, your place or mine?”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes back in his head. “Yours. I have… problematic roommates.”

Those beautiful dimples disappear. “Me, too.” 

Golden goat-ish eyes burn into Baekhyun’s for a long frustrating moment.

“...so, coat check?” Baekhyun suggests.

“Yes, please.”

The two of them fairly run for the cloakroom.

## 

⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫⨅ᗝ⇫

One of Minseok’s favorite things about himself is the ability to float. If he had to stay earthbound, he’d be too short to see anything interesting. But as it is, he can levitate high enough to look Yifan in his black shark-like eyes in the receiving line. And he can hold himself well above the crowd to search the assembly for a certain satin-wrapped head.

He’s distracted in his search by the sight of Jongin flailing on the floor, but Junmyeon and Kyungsoo rush to help him up, assuring Minseok he doesn’t need to swoop in and save his occasionally-awkward dongsaeng. He smiles when he sees Tao and Yifan on the dance floor during “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” the shorter man beaming indulgently at the taller one’s shambling efforts.

Minseok’s altitude slowly decreases and he frowns, not even having to look down to know that Jongdae’s using his dangling kitty tail to reel in his favorite balloon.

“Hyung! I have crossed oceans of time to find you,” his favorite dongsaeng says in a dramatically hollow voice that’s partially muffled by the crook of his own elbow. “I need your magic touch.” 

He lowers the arm in front of his face, revealing the blood spattered over skin and clothes. Minseok suppresses a snort, glad that his fondly-amused facial expression isn’t currently visible.

“Did you call Chanyeol’s mom a bitch again?” he asks, licking a finger and beginning to rub Jongdae’s face clean with it. 

Jongdae whines beneath his hyung’s ministrations even though he’d deliberately presented himself for such. “I didn’t say anything rude to any body! I was just trying to help. Nini got excited and accidentally elbowed me in the face.”

“So you knocked him down?”

“No! He slipped on Myeon-hyung’s drippings. I had nothing to do with it.”

Minseok sighs. “We really should make him carry around a ‘wet floor’ sign,” he says, licking his finger again before working his spit into the spots marring Jongdae’s clothes. 

It hadn’t taken the pair long to figure out that while Jongdae is great at making a bloody mess of himself and his hyung while feeding or fucking, Minseok’s ectoplasm easily oxygenates the stains conveniently away. Minseok frowns again at the thought of the satin sheets Baekhyun had destroyed with the excuse that his roomates would just have ruined them anyway. As long as he and Jongdae mess up Minseok’s bedding together—it’s always Minseok’s, since coffin sex is awkward at best even if Jongdae’s room weren’t a fire hazard waiting to happen—no permanent harm is usually done. 

If Baek hadn’t looked so good in the sliced-up sheets, Minseok would be even more annoyed, but he can’t really begrudge their fashionisto the best getup for his favorite shindig.

“Have you seen our Baekhyunnie?” Minseok asks, rubbing the last of the stains away while Jongdae sets dull teeth against Minseok’s fuzzy black shoulder. 

Jongdae knows better than to poke fang-holes in Minseok’s onesies. He just gnaws gently for a moment before saying “I saw him heading to the cloakroom with Yixing-ge.”

Minseok coos. “Oh, they’ll be cute together. I forgot Baekkie hadn’t met him or Hannie before.”

“They’ve been in China for centuries,” Jongdae reminds him. “I only met them because you took me to visit.”

“Oh that’s right.” Minseok wipes the vampire spit off his shoulder. “I’m glad they’re back.”

“I’m glad if you’re glad, Hyung.”

Minseok swats Jongdae with his tail. “Dope,” he accuses.

“You’re the one out in public wearing a cat onesie, Hyung.”

Jongdae’s yelp when Minseok pinches him somewhere sensitive is very satisfying.

## 

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Jongdae loves looking good, but the best thing about ostentatious formal wear is the slow, sensual removal of all those frills and accessories. It's twice as hot to watch said formal wear seem to remove itself accompanied by his lover's murmured adulation.

"Look at my dashing dracu-lover," Minseok purrs as he undoes the troublesome bowtie. "So bootiful. So fangtastic."

Jongdae fails to suppress a snort of amusement as the silk slides off his neck.

Okay, so his adorable apparition has a thing for terrible puns. If one can't laugh in the throes of passion, one is not fully relishing existence.

His waistcoat starts unbuttoning itself (and something tweaks Jongdae's nipple through his shirt). "Mmm, baby, I vant to suck your cock."

A chuckle escapes Jongdae's still-tinted lips. "Isn't that my line?"

"Finders, keepers," invisible lips declare.

Jongdae lifts his arms to catch the compact little figure he knows is hovering in front of him.

"Found you," he says.

Minseok's laugh is glorious. "Lucky you."

"Lucky me," Jongdae agrees, pulling Minseok close and sinking his fangs into his hyung's cool, smooth neck.

Minseok moans. 

The moan is answered by an abyssal howl.

The pair freeze. 

The sound comes again, quickly followed by a sustained high note only possible for a being who's mostly hollow inside.

"Baek brought some body home!" Minseok chortles, torso vibrating between Jongdae's palms.

"Thank fuck," Jongdae laughs. "Do you think it's Yixing-ge?"

Minseok goes completely still, then starts laughing so hard he completely loses tangibility. He's nothing but hysterical air surrounding Jongdae with mirth.

"What's so funny about that? I think they'll be good together."

Minseok manages to compose himself literally and figuratively. "Didn't I ever tell you Yixing's latest hobby?"

Jongdae shakes his head, smiling at the residual chuckles shaking the presence once again in his arms.

"He makes those whisper-relaxation videos for YouTube."

"So?"

Minseok's attempts to explain are cut off by more giggles, but on the third try he gets the words out.

"H-he specializes in 'unwrapping' videos!"

## 

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"Do your roommates always cackle like that? Are they witches or something?"

Yixing's dimples appear along with his friendly smile but a touch of concern shadows his glowing amber eyes.

Baekhyun rolls his own eyes. "They're not witches, but I do want to burn them at the stake occasionally."

Yixing's laugh is really cute. Not the sort of thing one might expect from a creature of the abyss. Baekhyun loves it.

But he also wants to find out if it's true what they say about guys with big horns.

Baekhyun pushes the concubus back on the gold lamé comforter. "Whatever—let them laugh. We're not done until you cry."

"Bring it on, my beautiful bandaged baby."

Baekhyun does bring it on. He brings it on for hours. And then Yixing brings it on some more, until a pair of squeezed-shut eyes floats through the wall.

“We’re sorry, you win, Dae and I are going to hang out on the roof until you’re done. Just text him or something—”

“Minseok-hyung?” the concubus asks, hips not missing a beat.

A pause. “...Hi, Yixing.”

“Your roommates are Minseok-hyung and ChenChen?”

“If ChenChen is an obnoxious curly-lipped bloodsucker then yeah, and do we have to have this conversation  _ right now?” _

But Yixing demonstrates a demonic ability to continue to pound Baekhyun into the mattress and chat about completely mundane topics like how much Minseok had enjoyed the unicat onesie he’d sent and how Seoul FC were doing. And Minseok demonstrates an uncanny ability to be incredibly expressive considering he’d only manifested his eyes and those were still squeezed shut.

“I thought you were going to the roof, Hyung,” Baekhyun interrupts. 

It’s not that he minds being watched (or listened to) but he  _ does _ prefer if his sexytimes are actually sexy instead of peppered with anecdotes about people he doesn’t know and therefore doesn’t care about. Hell, it would be weird even if he did know and care about them.

“Ah, sorry, Baekkie,” Minseok apologizes. “Have fun with XingXing. Please try to finish before sunrise for Dae’s sake!” Minseok disappears back through the wall. 

The concubus on top of Baekhyun looks down at him sheepishly. “Sorry, my little sun-dried tomato. How can I make up for my inexcusable distraction from your intoxicating charms?”

Baekhyun’s indignation dissolves into a wicked rectangular smile.

“We’re gonna fuck on the couch. Repeatedly. And we’re going to make sure our fastidious phantom finds out about it.”

## 

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End file.
